


The Laws of Gods and Men

by Aviator39



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Amazonian Culture, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Attempt(s), Attempted Kidnapping, Birth, Birthday, Bisexuality, Blood Magic, Chronic Illness, Consensual Underage Sex, Culture Shock, Death, Diana is Inspired by Wonder Woman, Diplomacy, Dorne, Dorne is Awesome, Dragons, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Faith of the Seven, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Found Love, Gen, Gout, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Healing waters, Horseback Riding, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Impulsive Sex, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Lost Love, M/M, Magic, No Whitewalkers, Past Abuse, Penis In Vagina Sex, Politics, Pool Sex, Pregnancy, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Robert's Rebellion, Romance, Scars, She is Wonder Woman, Smuggling, Smut, Spies, Subterfuge, Themyscira (DCU), Tigers, Twelve Gods of Olympus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Warrior Women, Water Gardens, difficult birth, don't google gout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-10-05 21:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviator39/pseuds/Aviator39
Summary: Inspired by Branwyn's like a banner into battle, TheSweetestThing's Clinging to the wild things that raised us and musicforswimming's in this expected country they know my name.-----------When Joffrey receives a letter from Prince Doran, Ruling Prince of Dorne offering marriage to his brother for Sansa Stark and her handmaiden Diana, he thinks it the perfect way to gain easy access to the North.Doran and Oberyn arrive in King's Landing to fetch Princess Myrcella, and find that things are rotten in the Capitol.As time goes on, Joffrey may soon find that his easy solution is not as easy as it seems. And, that those he thought passive players, may be the most dangerous players in the Game of Thrones.





	1. An Offer of Marriage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [like a banner into battle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192181) by [branwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/branwyn/pseuds/branwyn). 



> Thank you to the amazing branwyn for encouraging me to write a story inspired by her's. 
> 
> \-----
> 
> Warnings for canon Joffrey violence and mentions of past rape.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Joffrey of the House Baratheon receives a letter from Prince Doran of Dorne proposing an alliance of marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to clarify that while this work may seem similar to 'like a banner into battle' by branwyn that it is because it is inspired by that work. I have never and will never plagiarize another author's work.

_ "There are days my pain is so elaborate...that the scale of my tears tastes not of my own but like that of my ancestors -- and the women who dealt with this sorrow before me." - Segovia Amil _

* * *

 

A cacophony of murmurs and poorly disguised laughter rose from the crowd gathered in the throne room, assaulting Sansa’s ears without mercy. The whispers tormented her, drilling their way into her mind as she dared not even breathe, silently praying that the ground below her would split open and swallow her whole. Her eyes burned with shame and more rage than she could ever show, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks, streaking down in trails of white heat. 

Sansa swiped hastily at her cheeks with the back of a hand as the other clutched at Diana, her best friend and handmaiden, too terrified to loosen her grip. Diana’s head was bowed - though whether it was with restrained fury or cowed terror - Sansa couldn’t tell through the dark curtain of hair that hung heavily on either side of her face. The back of her gown had been torn open, the laces in tatters as her free hand clutched the front of it against her chest in a desperate attempt to maintain some dignity. Blood stained the edges of the torn brocade, sluggishly leaking from the wounds left by the flat of the Kingsguards’ blades. Sansa shivered at the sight, feeling the warmth of the blood leaking from her own wounds contrast sharply with the cool air of the throne room. 

Joffrey cleared his throat and the swell of tittering laughter behind them halted immediately as the crowd’s focus snapped back to the King. His voice, snide and cruel, replaced the laughter as he continued to read to the court the letter he had only just received from Doran Martell, the Ruling Prince of Dorne. “Prince Doran writes,  _ ‘Although my brother is five-and-thirty, he is most virile,” _ Joffrey read out gleefully, cackling before he continued. “  _ ‘And is as yet unwed. I, myself, have recently had my marriage to my long absent wife set aside’.  _ ” The King sneered down at the parchment. “  _ ‘My brother is prepared to wed the Lady Sansa, and I, her companion, Lady Diana’.  _ ” Diana flinched at her name and Sansa clutched her even closer, though it was as much for her own comfort as it was for her companion. She glanced up despite herself, briefly catching Margaery’s gaze and the pity within it before Sansa averted her eyes. Though the Queen-to-be’s face may have looked impartial to the crowd, the hands she clenched in the fabric of her skirts betrayed her true feelings. 

“  _ ‘Let Dorne swear its enduring fealty and friendship to the Iron Throne by relieving you and your House of what, by all reports, are nothing more than a most tiresore and obtrusive burden,’   _ ” Joffrey taunted, childish voice grating against Sansa’s ears. “They’ll take you every night like the common whores you are. They may even share you.” He promised darkly. “Ser Blount, Ser Meryn, hit the Dornish whores!” The two Kingsguard members stepped forward, hauling the girls up by the backs of their necks before driving mailed fists into the tender flesh of their bellies. Joffrey glared down at their slumped forms, worm-like lips sneering at their whimpers and the blood dotting the immaculate marble. “Prince Doran concludes:  _ ‘Let our loyalty to the Iron Throne, and His Grace, King Joffrey of the House Baratheon, continue with these marriages and the betrothal of Princess Myrcella to my son, Prince Trystane’.  _ ”

“I hope you are grateful.” Cersei hissed coldly, emerald eyes as hard as the stones they embodied as she glared down at Sansa and Diana from her place by the King’s side. “These are far better matches than you are worthy of; even if they are Dornish.” She sneered.

Diana and Sansa nodded demurely. “Yes, Your Graace.” Diana murmured, wounds bleeding anew as she shifted in place. “Marriage to the Princes of Dorne is far more than we, as traitors, deserve.” 

Cersei smiled cruelly. “They will breed you as soon as they can get their hands on you.” She stated airily. “And you will die in childbed like the bitches you are.”

“And then the North will be mine without contest!” Joffrey crowed, scanning Prince Doran’s letter once more. “The letter states they will take you with them back to Dorne after the engagement feast for my sister.” 

Margaery chose that moment to interject, eager to get Sansa and Diana back to her chambers as soon as she could. “How perfect, my love.” She purred, breathing into Joffrey’s ear as she draped herself over him. “The sooner for us to be free of traitorous reminders.”

“Agreed.” Joffrey muttered, waving a hand distractedly as Margaery pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Get out of my sight.”

The girls made to rise, biting their lips to conceal pained whimpers even as their knees threatened to buckle out from beneath them while the Kingsguard - save Jaime - looked on in obvious delight. It took two excruciating attempts, and equally painful laughter from the gathered courtesans, before a strong arm wrapped itself around Sansa’s waist. “Allow me, my lady.” Brienne whispered, her low voice discernible only to Sansa. “I do not believe you are in any condition to go anywhere on your own.”

Sansa trembled, risking a glance towards the throne that Joffrey had already vacated in search of a more entertaining pastime. Her eyes met Margaery’s and the young Queen-to-be gave her a small, reassuring smile and nodded softly. “Thank you, Lady Brienne.” Sansa breathed, yelping quietly as the lady-knight swung her up into her arms. “You are most kind.” She looked back as Brienne marched towards the exit, unsurprised to see Ser Jaime tenderly covering Diana in his white cloak, the dark-haired girl tucking her face into his chest plate as he hoisted her into his arms. Sighing with relief, Sansa allowed her eyes to drift shut as Brienne carried her, lulled by the slight rocking of the lady-knight’s footsteps.

♜

Diana had fixed her gaze on the stones of the floor beneath her as the King gloated before the court, tracing patterns in the uneven surface to distract herself from the laughter that pulled on her sanity and what dignity she had left. With the exception of her choked response to the Queen Regent, she’d managed quite well - though she was ashamed to admit it. Diana had thought she couldn’t sink any lower; first being kept as Robert Baratheon’s whore, and then as Joffrey’s plaything for him to exact his sadistic pleasures on should have stripped her of all the dignity she had. She was the last surviving Amazon - the daughter of the Queen of Themyscira - and had precious little to show for it. The island had long ago been reduced to ruins, its temples and villas and schools plundered, and its people either murmured or enslaved and raped by Robert Baratheon and his armies. 

Sansa’s hand slipped from hers and Diana looked up sharply, breathing a sigh of relief when her eyes lit on Brienne lifting Sansa into her arms. The other woman looked close to unconsciousness, her eyes fluttering shut as she left a trail of blood on the marble. Diana sighed and moved to stand once more, the shaking of her legs betraying her agony, only to tumble back to the ground when a gloved hand came to rest on her shoulder. 

“Easy…” Jaime breathed gently, and Diana relaxed instantly, slumping as she exhaled under her breath. She shuddered as Jaime draped his cloak around her, heedless of the blood from her wounds that blossomed through the pure white fabric. “I’m sorry.” Jaime murmured, carefully lifting her into his arms. “I never would have-. I didn’t want to-.” He stumbled over his words as he strode quickly from the throne room, following Brienne’s path towards Margery’s chambers.

“I know, Jaime.” Diana whispered quietly. “The blame is not with you.”

Jaime pressed his lips together into a thin smile, fighting to keep the anger from his face as his teeth ground together in protest. It was all he could do to stop himself from marching directly to his sister’s chambers and demanding that she control the monster their son had become.

As the pair turned the corner to Margaery’s chambers, whispers drifted along the stone walls to meet their ears. Margaery’s voice reached them first, followed closely by Sansa’s barely discernible response. 

“You warned me, Sansa.” Margaery hissed lowly, voice sharp. “You warned me, and I refused to listen. I thought I could temper him, perhaps even dull his edges some…” She shook her head, face a curious mixture of sadness and anger. “No, I never should have agreed to this betrothal. Never!”

Sansa’s muffled cry of pain from where she lay facedown on Margaery’s bed broke through the Queen’-to-be’s tirade. Margaery swore, grasping the arm of a nearby handmaiden. “Fetch a Maester, quickly! Not Pycelle!” She demanded sharply, blazing brown eyes promising swift retribution should her orders be ignored.

Sansa shifted at that, reaching out to grasp the other woman’s hand and pull her down to eye level. “Please Margaery, it’s not your fault.” She insisted. “I’m sure Cersei and Lord Tywin made Joffrey sound every bit the chivalrous boy she believes him to be. I thought the same.”

Margaery’s reply broke off as the chamber door swung open once more and Jaime ducked through the opening, carrying a pale Diana in his arms. Instinctively, Sansa scrambled to her feet and rushed to grasp Diana’s hand in her own, ignoring the screams of protest from her wounds. Diana had taken the brunt of the beating, as was her frustrating habit, and though Sansa knew she was far more durable than herself, it didn’t make the wounds any less painful. Her eyes flooded with fresh tears as Jaime laid her gently on the bed, gauntlets and chestplate stained with splashes of red. His normally bright green eyes had darkened, giving him the expression of a man haunted beyond his years.

“This has gone too far.” Jaime growled, clenching his hands into fists by his side. “Something must be done.”

At that, Diana stirred, ignoring Margaery’s flustering for her to remain still. “Please, Jaime…” She pleaded, using one hand to gather his cloak around herself while grasping his own in the other. “No more violence. Not today.”

Jaime bit back a retort, taking a deep breath as the cool gray of Diana’s eyes held his. He grumbled under his breath but relented under Diana’s earnest gray-eyed gaze. “As you command, my lady.” He relented, glancing across the room at Brienne, catching the lady-knight’s eye.

Everyone froze as a knock sounded on the door.

Jaime strode over to the door with one hand on the pommel of his sword. He pulled it open brusquely, and a rather rotund man with a face framed by wild gray hair stumbled through the opening. “Lady Margaery, I am Maester Perconte.” He stuttered, clearly surprised by the reception. “Your handmaiden asked your grandmother to send me.” Margaery nodded, shooing the rest of her maids out of the room as she grabbed the Maester by the hand and dragged him to Sansa’s side.

Diana pressed herself against Sansa’s side, ignoring the pain of her own wounds in favor of mixing the Maester with a bone-chilling gaze. Sharp gray eyes tracked his movements like a hunting hound, unnatural in their precision. The Maester set his chest down and made to reach for Sansa when Diana seized his wrist in an iron grip, the bone whining in protest.

“My lady?” The Maester nearly yelped, hazel eyes wide.

Gathering her strength, Diana stood, allowing Jaime’s cloak to slide off into a blood-stained pile on the bed. She yanked the Maester close, her face inches from his. “If you so much as think to breathe a word of what is said or seen in this room,” Diana threatened, voice just above a growl. “I will open your throat to the bone, but not before I make you witness the death of everyone you hold dear.” Her eyes blazed with the power only one of her kind could possess. “Is that clear?”

The Maester gulped and nodded furiously, looking thoroughly terrified. Not for the first time, those present were reminded that Diana was not human - or even mortal. She was the daughter of the Amazon Queen and a god; whatever powers she possessed were far beyond their comprehension. Diana sighed heavily - energy spent - sinking back down onto the bed as her head came to rest on Margaery’s slim shoulder. 

Maester Perconte moved to begin treating her, noting the paleness of her skin and the way she trembled like a leaf in the wind, but she smacked his hand away. “Tend to Lady Sansa.” She ordered, ignoring the worried glances thrown her way. “What difference will a few more scars make to me?”

\-----------------------------  
  


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	2. Arrivals from Dorne

_"What is true strength? Is it physical power? Yes. But what is true strength? It's when you break, and break, and break, until you have nothing left. And then you get back up and keep fighting. That is true strength."_

* * *

 

Something was happening in the throne room behind Diana; something that, for once, had nothing to do with her. 

Joffrey had gone pale, his worm-like lips parted with surprise, and the curtain of murmurs, muffled gasps and giggles that had blanketed the room after Ser Meryn had sliced a shallow wound across her back had all but disappeared. 

Diana lay sprawled across the marble floor, acutely aware of Sansa’s presence behind Jaime, safely out of Joffrey’s sight but found she could not tear her gaze from the King if The Mountain himself had turned her head. Whatever was happening behind her did not matter - nothing mattered, save the hand Joffrey held raised at his side. Diana’s life - or death - lay in Joffrey’s next move and the whims that encouraged him. 

She could hear voices behind her; a jumbled mixture of alarmed murmurs and excited whispers. Something had to be wrong with her. Her breathing hitched in her chest as her throat closed with anxiety, and she knew she would not be able to stand, much less walk. Diana could feel the blood running hot over her skin, staining the brocade of her gown that had been all but torn from her body. The laces were in tatters, and the front was only just managed to cover her modesty where it had caught the edge of her corset. 

Sansa stared at the slumped form of her friend from behind Jaime’s shoulder, watching her labored breathing rattle through her chest as blood dripped steadily from the welts and cuts left by Ser Meryn’s blade. Not for the first time, Sansa admired Diana’s strength; marvelling at her stoic endurance of the beating as it ripped open her freshly healed wounds. 

Joffrey had been enraged to learn that he could no longer lay a hand on Sansa with the Dornish contingent expected to arrive any day, but it was different with Diana. She was a handmaiden; a servant. Joffrey could damage her as he liked, even if she had been promised to Prince Doran, so long as some scrap of her was left by the time of the Dornishmen’s arrival. Joffrey had cackled at his own apparent genius as Ser Meryn sliced into her skin over twenty times in quick succession, leaving rivulets of blood to slip down the bronzed skin of her back and thighs. 

The sound of skirts rustling and armor clanking softly alerted Diana to movement behind her as the crowd parted to allow someone to come forward. She could feel Sansa’s eyes on her, begging her to stand, but if Diana was in the way of some noble’s progress, they would have to drag her aside if they wished to continue unimpeded.

“My most honored Lords and Ladies,” Diana flinched at the Herald’s voice rang clear over the tempered silence. “His Highness, Doran Martell, Ruling Prince of Dorne. His brother, Prince Oberyn, and their...retainers.”

Diana gasped, forcing her knees under her, gathering herself, one hand clutching her gown to her chest as her legs shook like a newborn colt. She turned, skirts swishing around her legs, slippers scuffing along the marble. Her gray eyes were downcast, lifting only to glance over at the man who had come to a stop behind her. 

The thin, yet well-muscled man sat atop a palanquin, propped up by gold-embroidered cushions. A woven, silk blanket covered his lap, where his hands rested. They were slim, and the knuckles on the right looked red and swollen - painful. His thick, dark hair, streaked with gray at the temples dusted gently over his forehead and brushed the collar of his doublet. Familiar, coal black eyes bored into her own, following her form as she dipped slowly but steadily into a curtsey. Though it had been more than twenty years since she had last seen him, Diana recognized Prince Doran immediately.

His personal guard loomed behind him, the blade of his battle axe glinting in the sunlight and a knight in copper-scaled armor stood at the Prince’s side, just behind another man who shared the same eyes as Prince Doran. There was no one else the man could be: Oberyn Martell - the Red Viper. The shudder that coursed through Diana and relief coursed through her as Prince Doran nodded at her in acknowledgement.

_ Did they remember her?  _ Diana wondered, legs wobbling as she made to rise, knees threatening to buckle.  _ Do they know I am the same girl who played with them in the Water Gardens all those years ago? _ She suppressed a yelp and a violent flinch as a strong hand wrapped around her elbow. She looked up, eyes landing on a handsome face with sharp features, framed by the glint of the copper scales as they shone bright even in the meager sunlight that trickled in through the stained glass. The knight’s lips were curved up at the corners in a gentle, sympathetic smile that clashed with the dark anger in his eyes. “Come…” He murmured, guiding her out of Doran’s path. “We must make way for my Princes.”

Diana barely heard Joffrey’s hasty excuse of having to “keep traitors in line” - though, in truth, she hardly cared what he had to say about her. She did not hear Prince Doran’s reply, his gracious murmurs just audible from behind the curtains of his palanquin held up by four Dornishmen.

The knight that had moved Diana out of the way wrapped his arm around her, loosely supporting her as they padded quietly out of the throne room, though she was stiff as a board in his grasp. The moment they rounded the corner, Diana found herself with an armful of Sansa. The other girl was close to tears, hands fluttering anxiously over Diana as the knight deposited her into Sansa’s arms.

He turned, pausing briefly to throw a cautious and almost hostile glance at Jaime who lingered nearby, before barking orders at another Dornish knight with the distinctive orange and gold sun-patterned cloth wrapped around his helm. Both girls flinched as the second knight moved towards them, backing away with shuffling steps only for him to remove his orange cloak and close the distance to drape it over Diana’s shoulders. 

“The King will not thank you for this, Ser.” Sansa breathed, keeping her arms firmly around Diana. “Now will your Prince.”

The handsome knight smiled at Sansa, eyes warm. “It was Prince Doran who sent me, my lady. I am Ser Daemon Sand.” He replied softly. “May I escort you and Lady Diana to your chambers?”

Sansa hesitated, she knew Diana was in no condition to make it to their chambers on her own, even with Sansa assisting her, and she knew Jaime’s assistance would not be overlooked again. But she was afraid of these Dornish knights and all their gallantry and chivalrousness; she knew nothing of them or their true intentions towards her and Diana, and this made them all the more dangerous. Regardless of Sansa and Diana’s betrothed status, who was to say that the knights would not attack them; that they would not take the chance to punish a traitor’s daughter? Whatever favors they could offer them were worth nothing - less than nothing.

“I mean no disrespect, Ser.” Sansa said at last. “But I do not wish to incur the King’s wrath anymore than necessary.” Her voice was steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “Please, I tell you, we are well in hand with Ser Jaime.”

The Dornish knight pursed his lips, glancing at the Lannister knight in his shiny Kingsguard armor and white cloak. 

Jaime stepped forward, cloak brushing against his boots. “The ladies are well in hand with me, Ser.” He stated. “They were put in my charge. I will see them safely to Lady Sansa’s chambers. Believe me, Ser, this will spare your Princes much hardship with the King.”

“Loathe though I am to accept this situation,” The Dornish knight commented. “I feel that I am honor bound to provide some form of assistance.” He unclasped his orange cloak and draped it over Diana in addition to his friend’s, heart clenching at the way she flinched from him.

Jaime stepped forward, white cloak brushing against his boots. “Thank you, Ser.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. “I doubt the King will appreciate such interference.” His words were sincere, as was the warning in his tone. “You are brave to risk his particular brand of justice.”

Sansa’s eyes darted back-and-forth between the two knights before snapping to Diana who, despite her best efforts - and more than mortal constitution - was beginning to list dangerously. The Dornishmen’s cloaks were already soaking through with blood. Diana’s breath was ghosting against her neck, labored and wavering. Diana had managed to keep Joffrey’s attention away from her, while Jaime had shielded Sansa from the King’s sight. Enraged at being unable to confront his uncle in Court, he’d ordered Diana beaten until she could no longer stand, and Ser Meryn had happily obliged, enthusiastically littering Diana’s back and thighs with fresh welts and slicing into her tender skin several times. 

She was quickly losing blood, too much blood. Sansa could feel it slick her fingers, tacking the Dornishmen’s cloaks to the open wounds on Diana’s back. “Ser Jaime, please.” Sansa pleaded, wide blue eyes shining with worried tears. “She needs a Maester, not the clever exchanging of words.”

The Dornishman blinked in surprise, as if seeing the blood that bloomed through his cloak for the first time. “My sincerest apologies, my lady.” He bowed. “Please send word to Prince Doran once a Maester has seen to Lady Diana.”

Sansa nodded, smiling back tightly, but politely as Jaime swept Diana into his arms, careful not to press on her wounds any more than necessary. Diana shuddered, trembling at the movement as she turned to press her face against the cool metal of Jaime’s chestplate.

\----------------------------

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	3. A Meeting and A Meal

_"I feel my ancestors in my blood. I am a body of people that are asking not to be forgotten."_

* * *

 

Sansa and Margaery left Diana to sleep for the remainder of the day and into the next, making their excuses for her until Sansa slumped, exhausted, back into their chambers at the end of the day. She quickly readied herself for bed, pressing a lingering kiss to Diana’s cheek before she slipped into bed beside her and quickly drifted into unconsciousness. 

Diana listened closely, waiting for Sansa’s breathing to even out into the easy rhythm of sleep, before she slipped out of bed, suppressing a groan of pain as she pulled a simple wrap gown around her body. The evening was cool as Diana slipped into the corridor, padding shakily out onto the main promenade and into the gardens. Her movements were slow, and she ached terribly, but she  _ could _ move thanks to Maester Perconte’s diligent work. 

For herself and Sansa, their walks were one of the only times they could find any semblance of peace. With neither of them allowed to do so much as play the harp, let alone embroider, they found their solace few activities. Though, Diana supposed it didn’t matter much to her anyway, given that every one of her people were long dead, their bones desecrated and tossed into the sea without proper ceremony. 

Why should she want for the comfort of activity when her sisters and mother were no longer able to do anything?

She sat down on the first bench she found, at the beginning of a long path leading to a trickling fountain in the distance. Her wounds pulsed, fresh pain flowing through them once more. Diana bowed her head, dark hair curtaining her face on either side. Where Sansa had the Godswood to pray, there was nowhere Diana could go to pray to her gods. Not that they were worshipped beyond Themyscira; even before the tragedy of the past. Gods died when there was no one to offer proper worship and tribute. So, there was no Zeus to pray to for strength, or Hera to protection in childbed and marriage. She had no people and no faith to turn to; hadn’t since a year after Robert Baratheon had raped Themyscira. 

Her sisters had either killed each other or themselves to escape becoming slaves to Robert and his men. Her mother had died after being raped by The Mountain. But she was left to linger; unable to die and cursed with the ability to heal from most any injury. As such, Diana was the last of her kind. 

Gravel on the path crunched and she jerked her head up, eyes searching the shadows. Heavy footsteps grew steadily louder, her breath coming in short, shallow pants as whoever it was rounded the corner to her bench. She released a breath at the sight of Prince Doran seated in his elaborate, high-backed chair with ebony wheels.

Diana was surprised though, given that it was no exaggeration that the Dornish contingent had no desire to be within the walls of the Red Keep any longer than necessary. They had taken residence outside the Red Keep, just close enough to not be any more disrespectful than was tolerated. 

“Your Highness.” Diana murmured, rising before dipping into a low curtsey and lowering her eyes respectfully. “Please forgive my appearance, I did not expect to see anyone at this hour.”

Doran smiled kindly, gesturing for her to rise. “Sleep often eludes me most nights, Lady Diana.” He replied courteously, the edges of his smile tinged with pain. “Gout may be called the rich man’s disease, but those who do so know nothing of the pain it causes.”

Diana cocked her head softly, gray eyes sympathetic. “I am sorry for your distress, Your Highness.” She murmured sincerely, doing her best to ignore the hulking figure of Areo Hotah and his menacing axe behind Doran. 

“Doran, please.” He insisted, waving his right hand with its swollen and red knuckles. “Such formalities are not necessary when we are alone.” The Prince insisted softly. “We are to be husband and wife after all.”

Her lips twitched in a nervous, almost smile, eyes flicking to Hotah and back to Prince Doran. “But we are not alone, Your Highness.” She replied, shuffling nervously as Hotah shifted in place.

The Prince’s brown furrowed before his lips parted slightly, dark eyes brightening in understanding. He nodded to Hotah who stepped back several paces until he was shrouded in shadow, only the glint of his axe blade visible. 

Diana nodded her thanks, backing up hastily as Doran stood, the backs of her thighs bouncing off the cold stone of the bench. She grimaced, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Warm hands enclosed hers, and she forced herself to swallow a scream, remain still and focus on the main in front of her.

“Forgive me.” Doran apologized, gaze tender. “I have forgotten what you endured yesterday.” He stroked his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “Please, take my chair.” 

“I could not, Your High- Doran.” Diana whispered, forcing herself to meet the Prince’s dark eyes. “Another beating of the same, and I fear I may not be able to sail at week’s end. 

Doran tsked, shaking his head. “Leave the King to me, Diana.” He urged, guiding her to sit in his rolling chair. “Should anyone inquire, I will merely say that I gave you no choice in the matter.”

She hesitated, the heat of his hands searing her skin even as her hands shook. “Please, Doran, you know me.” Diana pleaded earnestly, casting aside the veil of pretense. “If you still bear any love for me, don’t place me in this position.” 

Doran inhaled shakily and lowered himself to sit on the bench beside her. “I am sorry, Diana. Truly.” He murmured. “The last thing I want to do is place you in further danger.” 

“Thank you.” Diana breathed but did not respond, briefly wondering about Dorne and if it had changed much since the last time she’d been there. She’d just flowered, and her mother had agreed to bring her along to Dorne to renew their trade agreements. The Princes had been young boys back then, wild and dreaming of the glory of war while they sparred with wooden swords under the watchful eye of their mother. 

They had all been children in one way or another back then.

“Why?” Diana questioned softly, allowing Doran to maintain his grip on her hands even as she briefly averted her eyes. “Your letter...it was so sudden and unexpected,” She looked back up at him. “Why lay claim to Sansa and I now?”

Doran grew quiet then, gaze contemplative as he regarded her. “Word reached me by way of a letter from Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion about your situation. I could not stand idly by.” He paused and squeezed her hands. “I thought you dead all these years, and I will admit that some part of my motivation to come here was out of love for you. Had I known sooner, I would have interceded.”

“I do not doubt that you would have.” She breathed, threading her fingers with those on his good hand. “Nor do I doubt that you love me.”

“I know Dorne will be foreign after your time spent here; even more so for Sansa, but I can assure you that we will do everything in our ability to make it a home to you.” Doran promised earnestly. He could feel his gouty leg protesting, the heat licking up the limb, but would endure it if it meant he and Diana went into their marriage as something more than strangers. 

Diana smiled softly, reading the fresh lines of pain creasing his eyes. “You needn’t worry.” She murmured and helped him stand so he could return to his chair. “Dorne will be the closest I have been to home in nearly twenty years. And Sansa is as excited as she is nervous.” Her hands were steady as she assisted Doran in lowering himself into his rolling chair, heart clenching as he winced, pulling his gouty leg onto the ledge. “I’m sure Sansa and I will be perfectly happy.”

Doran nodded, smiling softly through his pain as Diana arranged the blanket over his lap. “Will you dine with us tonight?” He asked. 

She paused, licking her lips. “I would like that.” Diana replied, dipping down into a polite curtsey before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek as Hotah moved to take hold of the chair’s handles. “Have a pleasant day, Your Highness.”

♜

That evening found Diana walking anxiously towards the home the Dornish contingent had taken up residence in. Ser Jaime and Ser Loras walked close behind, because although she was not allowed the luxury of a palanquin or litter, Margaery refused to let her go without an escort. The Queen-to-be had cited how if something were to happen to Diana, the Lannisters would lose Sansa’s cooperation while she remained in the Capitol and their relations with Dorne would worsen further. Joffrey had reluctantly agreed to give Diana her escort. 

Margaery had lent her of her finer gowns as all of Diana’s were more than a few years old, and therefore unsuitable for dining with a Prince. The gown was one of Margaery’s favored ones, with an open back that allowed for less pressure on her wounds, cap sleeves and a deep vee in the front that accentuated Diana’s breasts. They had forgone the silver, rose belt and had instead replaced it with a simple chain of delicate silver links. The flowing skirt brushed against her slippered feet as she continued walking, enjoying the pleasantly warm evening. Her hair hung in a thick braid down her back, the plait woven through with silver ribbon. 

“We’re here, my lady.” Ser Loras intoned as they arrived outside the courtyard of the grand house, rapping his fist against the wooden gate. “The Lady Diana is here at the invitation of His Highness, Prince Doran.” He said to the glaring Dornishman that stuck his head out before disappearing back behind the gate. 

Diana fiddled with the fabric of her skirt. “I hope he is pleased with me.” She murmured softly as they waited to be allowed entrance. Even after their discussion in the gardens yesterday, Diana had been put through too much in the last twenty years to take things at face value. 

Jaime rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Prince Doran would have to be demented to not be pleased with you.” He assured her, stroking a hand down her hair. “Loras and I will be close should anything happen.”

“I know.” She breathed as the gate was opened and they were allowed entry, stepping into a spacious, mosaic-tiled courtyard that was criss-crossed with bolts of gold fabric to provide shelter from the harsh sun. “Prince Oberyn…” Diana dipped into a low curtsey as she caught sight of the Prince waiting for them. “My apologies for making you wait.”

Oberyn waved a hand, shaking his head. “No apologies are necessary, Lady Diana.” He stated. “It is I who should apologize to you for making you wait in the street like a common beggar.” His coal black eyes were warm as he offered her his arm and began guiding her further into the house. Their pace was steady but slow enough that her injuries from the past days only protested the movement slightly. “I did not see a litter.” Oberyn stated after a moment, looking over at the dark-haired girl. “Did you come by some other means of transport?” He asked, already knowing he would not be pleased with the answer.

Diana hesitated, the hand resting in the crook of Oberyn’s elbow flexing and then relaxing. “No, Your Highness.” She answered after several moments, keeping her eyes trained on the mosaic floor. “I am not permitted any form of transport unless invited out by Lady Margaery to assist with her charity work.” Her voice was resigned and tired, and Oberyn clenched his hands into fists. The viper within him wanted nothing more than to poison the Mad Boy King at his sister’s engagement feast, but he knew Doran would not allow it...at least not yet. 

“I will escort you back to the Red Keep myself.” He said softly, withdrawing his arm to place his hand against her lower back, careful not to agitate her healing injuries. “The King could not object to you riding back with me, can he?”

“He will try.” She replied apprehensively, the muscles in her back tensing as one of the calluses on his hand caught against the healing skin. “The King finds excuse for violence wherever he can.” 

Oberyn thinned his lips as he opened the heavy oaken door leading to the smaller dining room where his brother and Ellaria were waiting. “Princess Diana of Themyscira.” He intoned as he shut the door behind him, not missing the way Diana’s breathing hitched as he left Daemon, Ser Jaime and Ser Loras to stand guard.

“Your Highness, Lady Ellaria.” Diana acknowledged politely, descending into a deep curtsey, her skirts flaring out around her, eyes lowered. 

Doran smiled warmly, dark eyes shining. “There is no need for such formalities, Diana.” He murmured, motioning for her to rise. “We are equals here.” 

Ellaria watched as Diana stood and moved to the seat next to Doran, forcing herself to maintain a smile at the glimpse of the girl’s scarred back. Her posture was stiff as she sat, back painfully straight and a practised mask of serene neutrality on her stunning features. 

“Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness.” Diana murmured lowly, and Doran felt a coolness settle between them. With others present, gone was the familiarity they had shared early that morning, and it left him feeling oddly hollow. 

Ellaria leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table as Oberyn sat next to her, resting a hand against her exposed back. “Your practised courtesies are not needed here, Diana.” She stated. “We are your friends - your allies - nothing said here will be betrayed.”

Diana searched the faces around her, looking for some trace of insincerity or humor, swallowing thickly when she found none and exhaled shakily, a sob caught in her throat as she finally allowed herself to slump forward in relief. She could feel tears pricking behind her eyes as over-warm fingers moved her braid aside to reveal her latest injuries. 

“These are new.” Doran muttered darkly, eyes mapping the new welts, cuts and bruises marring her golden skin. 

“I am thankful you were not in Court today.” Diana breathed, shuddering at the memory and as Doran’s hand came to rest on the back of her neck. “One of Cersei’s little birds saw us in the gardens.” She lifted her head to look at him, gray eyes swimming with tears. “The King was not pleased to hear of us enjoying each other’s company.”

The signet ring on Oberyn’s left hand scraped against the table as he clenched it into a fist, expression stormy. “The boy should be put down, before the realm becomes victim to another Aerys.” He insisted, pouring himself a generous amount of wine from the decanter. “Assuming he hasn’t gone mad already.” His tone had Diana’s stomach knotting in on itself, threatening to ruin any appetite she’d managed to muster for the meal. She swallowed, pressing her lips together, the heat from Doran’s hand pleasant as it travelled from her back to her forearm as she leaned back in her seat. 

“Three days more, and you can leave this place behind for good.” Doran promised, raising her hand to his lips and pressing them to the back of her knuckles. 

Diana gave him a sad smile, lacing their fingers together. “Three days is enough to do a great deal of damage.” She replied soberly, tensing as a side door opened to allow servants to enter with platters of food. She lowered her eyes as they set the platters down, enameled ceramics painted with detailed filigree floral patterns holding her-and-honey roasted chicken, sugared blood oranges, broiled beef, lemon cakes, and buttered salmon. 

Doran seemed to notice her nervousness, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. “Eat as much or as little as you like.”

“Thank you…” Diana nodded, accepting the plate Oberyn prepared for her, smiling at the two lemon cakes set aside. “Lemon cakes have become something of a favorite of mine since meeting Sansa.”

“She may have mentioned it.” Oberyn smiled, dark eyes shining with renewed mirth. “Now please...eat.”

\----------------------

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	4. Leaving King's Landing

_ "If you have been brutally broken, but still have the courage to be gentle to others than you deserve a love deeper than the ocean itself." - Nikita Gill _

* * *

 

The day of Myrcella’s engagement feast dawned bright and clear, a good omen for her impending marriage according to the priests in the Sept of Baelor. A large pavilion had been erected and canopies were strung across it to protect the Royal Family and othered honored guests from the heat. Multicolored ribbons danced in the breeze as Baratheon and Martell banners clapped loudly. 

Sansa stared out at the decorated courtyard from her place on the main balcony overlooking most of the pavilion. The ends of her hair fluttered in the wind, a few loose strands tickling her cheeks. She’d chosen a lighter brocade of silk and linen for today as she, Diana and Margaery lounged in the Queen’s-to-be’s chambers. They were to head down to the baths in a few moments, and it loosened the knot in her chest that she was only a day-and-a-half from leaving King’s Landing behind. 

“One more day…” Sansa breathed, smoothing down her skirts as her eyes scanned the pavilion as servants began arranging tables and chairs, along with a throne for Joffrey. “Only one more day.” A flash of orange and gold caught her eye, and she stepped closer to the railing, looking over it. Oberyn Martell stared up at her, coal black eyes seeming to pierce her very soul, the tails of his doublet flapping in the summer breeze. Sansa managed a polite smile, nodding as she waved. “I wish you well in the tourney, Your Highness.” She called down, resting her hands on the smooth stone. 

“Thank you, my lady.” Oberyn called up, teeth flashing as he grinned widely. “May I wear your favors?”

Sansa contemplated the thought for a moment, weighing the possibility of how angry it would make Joffrey. Prince Oberyn was her betrothed - her husband-to-be - and it would only be proper for him to wear her favors at the tourney. “Of course, Your Highness.” She replied, brushing a strand of flaming hair out of her eyes. “I would be honored.”

Oberyn smiled, dark eyes sparkling. “The honor is all mine, Lady Sansa.” He said. “I will look for you at the tourney.” Sansa smiled as she watched him walk away, shaking her head amusedly at the cocky swagger in his stride. 

“Well that sounded like it went well.” Margaery observed as she came up behind Sansa, placing her slim hands on Sansa’s waist. “He does not seem all that bad.”

She nodded, sighing at the feeling of the Queen-to-be’s lips ghosting along her neck. “No, not bad at all.” Sansa murmured, giggling at the kiss Margaery placed behind her ear. “Let’s go bathe. Diana will wonder where we’ve gotten to.”

♜

Banners bearing the Baratheon and Martell sigils clapped in the wind as guests filed into the pavilion for Myrcella’s engagement feast. Sansa and Diana had been given seats of honor by Margaery’s side against Joffrey’s protests but at the Queen-to-be’s insistence. Margaery had arranged it so that Oberyn sat beside Sansa and Doran by Diana in hopes that the soon to be brides could get to know their future husbands. 

Oberyn was dressed in a deep orange doublet, trimmed with gold and black trousers along with snake-skin boots. A red silk sash was draped across his right shoulder being held in place by a sun-and-spear pin wrought in bronze. Sansa had dressed to compliment him in a gown of burnished gold with a deep red inner silk. Layered chains of small, gold disks emblazoned with the sun glinted in the late afternoon sunlight, while her scarlet hair had been braided up in the Southron fashion by Diana with diamond-tipped hairpins interspersed throughout. 

Diana had chosen a gown of aquamarine blue, shot through with deep blue and gold thread. A single, silver pendant engraved with an owl hung from her neck, resting just above her cleavage. Two sections of her long, dark hair were twisted away and held with a silver pin to keep it away from her face. Sitting next to her, Doran looked fit to sit the Iron Throne in a doublet of deep, navy brocade trimmed in silver with gray trousers and a white, silk brocade blanket to cover his legs, the tips of his slippers peeking out. 

Margaery thought they made fine pairs, seated next to each other - each complimenting the other - and she smiled to herself from her place beside Joffrey. Cersei and Tywin were seated on the King’s left, somehow managing to look both grim and pleased at the same time. 

“I do hope you will enjoy Dorne, Lady Sansa.” Oberyn murmured as he took a sip of chilled summer wine. “I know it will seem very foreign to you, but everyone will endeavour to make it your new home.”

Sansa smiled, Tully blue eyes shining. “Diana has been telling me stories of her visits there.” She replied, taking a bite of honey-roasted quail. “She has many fond memories of playing in the Water Gardens and walking through the bazzars.”

Oberyn chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “The Water Gardens are wonderful.” He agreed. “We’ll go there after resting in Sunspear upon our arrival in Dorne.”

Her eyes sparkled, smile reaching them for the first time in months. “Do you think your daughters will be pleased with me, Your Highness?” She asked softly, nibbling at a lemon cake. “I am so much younger than them after all.”

“True...my three eldest are older than you, but Sarella and Elia are of age with you.” He smiled fondly at the thought of his daughters. “Obella, Dorea, and Loreza are several years your junior, but all the girls understand the way of the world.”

“But I shall be more sister than mother surely.” Sansa murmured, toying with the end of one of the twists hanging over her shoulder. “Afterall, they have your…” She faltered, searching for the appropriate word. “...Ellaria…”

Oberyn hummed under his breath, stroking his mustache. “You will be to them...whatever they wish you to be.” He stated. “And I do hope you and Ellaria will get along.”

Sansa nodded automatically, the knot of trepidation returning to her stomach full force. The bite of lemon cake suddenly going dry in her mouth and she grabbed her cup, draining it in several swallows.

♜

The day had come for Sansa and Diana to set sail with Princess Myrcella and the Dornish contingent. Diana’s single trunk, and Sansa’s meager two looked especially small and plain next to Myrcella’s dozen when they’d been loaded onto Nymeria’s Star - the ship that would carry them to Sunspear. 

It had been decided, on the orders of the King, that Ser Jaime would accompany Myrcella along with Ser Arys Oakhart - one which made the girls grateful, and the other nervous. If the King truly had decided their accompaniment, then it would have been Ser Meryn and Ser Blount that would have been chosen. The choice of knights then meant that it had been Cersei and Tywin who had made the decision.

They had hoped to see Margaery before setting sail, but the Queen-to-be was nowhere to be found. Apparently, she wasn’t feeling well and was having a lie in. The women watched as the dock and the crowd gathered grew smaller as they were rowed to Nymeria’s Star in a smaller boat covered by a red-and-gold canopy with fluttering crimson curtains. 

“Are you excited, Sansa?” Myrcella asked, smiling widely. “Dorne is going to be so exotic compared to here, and so exciting. I can’t wait to ride a proper Sandsteed.” 

“I’m sure Dorne will be lovely, Princess.” Sansa replied politely, a tight smile on her lips. “It will be an adventure for all of us.” Myrcella beamed, blonde curls bouncing as they came alongside Nymeria’s Star and climbed aboard. 

“Welcome aboard, Princess.” Doran greetly cordially, watching the young Princess curtsey prettily before being led away by her Septa. “Lady Diana...Lady Sansa…” His smile was genuine for them, warmer and entirely welcoming. Diana and Sansa curtsied, smiling as the sea breeze rustled their hair. 

Oberyn smiled from his place behind Doran’s chair. “We will set sail within the hour.” He said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “In the meantime, there is something waiting for you in your cabin.” They glanced at each other, eyes swirling with nervous curiosity before following Ser Daemon below deck, passing several doors before coming to a stop at one with a small window made of stained glass. 

“Your cabin, my ladies.” Daemon bowed, smiling. “I am at your disposal should you require anything.” 

“Thank you, Ser Daemon.” Diana replied as she pushed open the heavy door. “You are most kind.” Daemon smiled once more, nodding before turning on his heel and walking back the way they’d come.

Sansa looked around. “What do you suppose is here waiting for us?” She wondered. It was understandably smaller than Princess Myrcella’s given their lack of any real status, but it was spacious with a large bed covered in brightly colored silk and duvets. There was even a fur draped across the footboard. Elegant tapestries covered the walls, and bright sunlight streamed in from the two large windows on either side of the cabin. A large wooden bath was carved into a curtained off area, the little silver disks sewn into the fabric glinted like fish scales. Their trunks were tucked against the foot of the bed. 

“I see nothing out of place.” Sansa murmured, blue eyes continuing to search the cabin just as a pair of hands closed over Diana’s eyes and she yelped, excited giggles reaching her ears. 

“Margaery!” She scolded, turning to stare wide-eyed at the doe-eyed, brown-haired girl looking back at her sheepishly. “What are you doing here? Joffrey will _kill_ you.”

Margaery shook her head adamantly. “My grandmother and the household departed in the dead of night.” She explained. “And Joffrey is not so gallant as to check on his ill betrothed.” Her voice was sure. “House Tyrell will be pledging our forces to the North within the month.”

“Clever girl.” Diana smirked. “And the Princes know you’re here?” She questioned, giving the younger girl a pointed look.”

“It was their idea.” She grinned, eagerly accepting the heated kiss Diana pressed to her lips before allowing Sansa to engulf her in an embrace, burying her face into the crook of Margaery’s neck.

Her petal soft lips brushed against the Highgarden girl’s pale skin. “I was so worried.”

Margaery hummed softly. “Oh, sweet girl.” She breathed, watching Diana from over Sansa’s shoulder. 

♜

They had been sailing for a week as Diana watched Sansa and Margaery sleep, their expressions peaceful for the first time in weeks. Nymeria’s Star rocked gently with the ocean’s rhythm, the disks of the bathing area curtain tinkling softly. She had wanted to thank the Princes for smuggling Margaery on board, but neither had come to the dining cabin for meals, remaining secluded in the Royal Apartments. 

Sleep, however, had eluded her and she’d sat up talking with the girls until their eyes grew heavy. Padding to the cabin door she ducked in the hallway, bare feet silent on the polished wood as she made her way to the Royal Apartments. The double doors carved with a detailed sun and spear of Dorne. 

Diana knocked softly, listening to the voices within until an “enter” reached her ears, sounding strained and painful. “Your Highness?” She questioned tentatively as she eased the door open, shutting it softly behind her, noting Oberyn backing away from the bed he had no doubt just laid Doran in. “Is he well?”

Oberyn shook his head, dark circles beneath his eyes. “His gout has flared up.” He murmured, scrubbing a hand down his face. “He refused milk of the poppy. He dislikes showing weakness.”

“I would not qualify this as weakness.” Diana retorted, bolder even after only a week out of Joffrey and the Lannister’s control. “I came to thank you both for smuggling Margaery on board. “We appreciate it more than you know.” 

Oberyn smiled, warmth returning to his eyes. “I am glad, Diana.” He replied before his gaze drifted back to the prone form of his brother. 

Diana followed his gaze, pursing her lips as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to Doran. “Does the course to Sunspear still sail past Themyscira?” She asked, stroking a hand down Doran’s fevered cheek. “The Healing Halls may still be functional; the water in those pools have immense curative properties.”

“Even after all these years?” Oberyn looked dubious.

Diana gave a noncommittal hum, eyes tender as she stared down at Doran. “It is a chance.” She admitted. “But the waters will do more for your brother than any maester could.”

Oberyn deliberated for a moment, rubbing his jaw. “I will tell the Captain we will be making a stop.” He agreed after a few moments. 

“Good. Now, get some rest.” She replied sternly, almost motherly. “You will do your brother no good running yourself ragged.”

“As you command, my lady.” The younger Prince acquiesced cheekily.

\-------------------------

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	5. Themyscira, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey to Themyscira to help Doran. Diana moves further out of the shadow of King's Landing and the Lannisters. And Doran and Diana rekindle their love in a rather unexpected way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Thanks to everyone for sticking with me. Hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> There's some smut in this chapter...

_ “You are human. You are not weak for feeling things. So get angry, make people regret ever wronging you. Be happy, smile so bright that the sun is jealous. Be sad, crack, crumble, cry until your heart is no longer heavy. Never let this cruel world steal your spark.” _

* * *

 

Oberyn took a moment to take in the beauty of Themyscira as he, Ser Daemon and Ser Jaime followed Diana towards the Healing Halls. The island was lush with greenery, flowers and fruit trees blooming in bursts of color, while waterfalls tumbled from the aqueducts and cliffs overhead. Temples and villas lined the streets while a soaring stone tower loomed over the rest of the city, its golden doors sealed shut and the air seemed charged with an undecipherable energy - a magic far older than any he had ever read about. But as breathtaking as the island was, his concern was only for his brother. 

In the time it had taken to Themyscira, Doran’s gout had calmed offering a few days reprieve before flaring badly and sending the Ruling Prince into a pain-addled, fever-ridden half-sleep plagued by nightmares and delusions. His exhausted from was curled into Oberyn’s arms, face buried against his brother’s doublet to shield his eyes from the glaring sun and though he was more coherent today, Diana had permitted no one else to come with them - not even Sansa and Margaery - but there wasn’t much she could do about Daemon and Jaime’s presence. 

“Here.” Diana said as they came to the mouth of a large cavern. “Leave him with me.” Oberyn and Daemon glanced at each other, exchanging dubious glances even as Doran let out a low, prolonged moan of pain and Jaime resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Only Themyscira’s healers and those who seek healing may enter the Halls.” She explained, reminding the men that, for whatever it was worth, they were in her kingdom now. “I am strong enough to bear his weight. Leave him with me.” Her voice left no room for argument for she had been free of Pycelle’s drugged meals for a month now and knew her statement to be true.

Oberyn hesitated for a moment, looking down at his brother’s vulnerable form curled into his arms. Doran’s brow was slick with sweat, skin pale and he shivered as he breathed shallowly through the pain. “Doran has placed his trust in you.” Oberyn stated finally, stepping forward. “So, I place my trust in you as well.” Carefully, he transferred Doran to Diana’s arms, surprised when she did not falter in the slightest and watched as the pair disappeared into the mouth of the cavern, quickly being swallowed by the shadows. 

“He is good hands. Ser Jaime will stand guard. He would not allow anything to happen to Diana.” Daemon assured Oberyn, wondering when he had begrudgingly began to respect the Kingslayer and took the younger Prince by the arm, steering him away from the cavern, nodding briefly to Jaime who took his post.

♜

Diana adjusted her grip on Doran, making her way by memory to the smaller of the pools formed into the walls of the large cavern. The water shimmered, bubbling as it was fed by the underground hot springs and a thin layer of moisture clung to the walls. To one side, bottles of ointments and salves sat on their shelves, the glass cloudy with age. 

Carefully, she set Doran down on a low, adjacent stone bench while she loosened the ties of her gown, shrugging out of it. Her shift stuck to her skin in the humid air and her corset seemed all the tighter as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind she could remove and then lace up herself, so she resigned herself to leaving it on. “Your Highness…” Diana murmured as she knelt in front of Doran, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Doran, are you with me?”

Doran nodded, coal black eyes glazed, hazy and unfocused though he hummed as she carded her fingers through his hair. “I’m with you…” He breathed, loosely grasping her hand in his good one. “I…” A pained shudder coursed through him. “I place myself in your care.”

Diana smiled warmly, undoing the ties of his doublet and pushing it off his shoulders followed by his tunic and trousers, leaving him in his smallclothes though he hardly seemed to notice. Their shoes were last, placed to the side underneath the bench. “Hold onto me.” She instructed, wrapping an arm around his waist and pushing them both to his feet. The grip of his gouty right hand was weak, just barely managing to grasp the slope of her shoulder and his swollen knees allowed only the smallest of shuffling steps. “The water will be hot and you may feel some tingling; do not be alarmed.”

“I have the utmost trust in you, Diana.” Doran murmured, breath hot where it ghosted against her neck and she wondered if he was thinking back to their shared history. “I will bear anything to grant myself some reprieve.” He chuckled weakly. “Perhaps I am selfish…”

Diana shook her head, gently squeezing his waist as she lowered them into the pool. “Selfishness is not in your nature.” She settled him on her lap, tucked against her chest so she could hold him securely, preventing him from sleeping under and drowning. “After all, you married the woman your parents approved as opposed to the one you truly loved.” The comment was soft, barely a breath. “I loved you…”

Doran hummed against her neck, left hand searching for hers beneath the water, threading their fingers together. “I love you, Diana.” He confessed, and she started.  _ Had she spoken out loud? _ Evidently she had and Diana’s gaze snapped over to his, heart hammering in her chest as she stared at Doran, meeting dark eyes that were crystal clear and as sharp as any weapon. “I was once worthy of you…” Doran’s voice was soft, doing his best to assuage her fears. “I know you have been through something truly terrible these past years, but I vow to make myself worthy of you once more.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking out past her lids to slide down her cheeks and mingle with the water below. “You  _ are _ worthy.” Diana pressed her forehead to his, eyes fluttering shut as his breath ghosted over his lips. “You have always been worthy.” A weak laugh left her lips, glancing down at her soaked through shift, the material sticking to her skin.  

“And what is so amusing, if I may ask?” He inquired, dark eyes sparking with amusement and smiled easily as the pain of his gout finally faded, the searing heat abating so only the water’s pleasant warmth was left. 

Diana shook her head, heat pooling in her stomach at the realization of what she was about to say. “I did not think you would see me in such a state until our wedding night.” She laughed nervously, shifting in place and sliding out from beneath him, suddenly feeling bold. 

“Well,” Doran started, following her and standing with far more ease than he had in years, but hesitant to move towards her. He knew she was damaged, but the Diana he remembered was not one to be broken, not even after twenty years spent as a prisoner in King’s Landing. “Perhaps this will allow us to pass by the awkwardness that usually accompanies such a night.” 

Diana snorted softly, giggling quietly and looking far happier than Doran had seen her in their brief time reunited. “I love you, Doran Martell.” She stated and pulled her shift over her head before pulling him towards her, body flush against his. “And I do not wish to wait until we are wed to do so properly.” 

Her words were heated with lust, a feeling that had been rekindled during her time with Sansa, and stoked to a steady simmer by Margaery. She had the girls to thank for no longer fearing but enjoying sex. 

“Diana are you sure?” Doran questioned, unable to deny the heat coiling in his stomach at the sight of the woman he loved flushed from the warm water, eyes bright with want, and skin glowing from the glowing crystals embedded in the pool walls. “I have no desire to force you.”

She shook her head and tilted her head up to claim his lips in a passionate kiss, tongue pressing against his lips - asking for entry. Doran relented, moaning at the sweet heat of her mouth as his cock began to fill, straining against his smallclothes.

“Does that answer your question?” Diana quipped, smirking as she pulled away. “I  _ want _ you.” She breathed, voice husky with want and pupils blown wide and chest heaving. “I want you rather badly.” Her inhale was deep as she walked them back towards the bench, straddling his legs and pushing their smallclothes aside. 

“Gods…” He swore, suddenly more alive than he had been in a decade. Whatever veneer of control he managed to cling to vanished as the swell of her cunt ground against his cock. She smiled coyly, looking every inch the woman he remembered from his youth as she rolled her hips, grinding herself against the hard line of his cock. 

Diana hummed under her breath, moaning as his right hand came up to cup her breast and tease the nipple. “Oh, sweet Aphrodite…” She swore, the invocation falling from her lips as he filled her, the stretch more than satisfying. 

The light of the water bounced off the walls of the cavern and threw their shadows into stark relief, their breaths mingled as they exchanged passionate kisses, gasping moans echoing around them. Water sloshed over the side of the pool, spilling into the smaller one below. He rolled his hips, thrusting into her while lowering his hand to her hip and reaching his other hand between them to press the pad of his thumb against her clit. The moan that left her lips was divine absolution and when he looked into her eyes the gray orbs were aglow with more than just her love of him. 

They moved together for several moments, climbing towards a peek they both desired. His thumb continued to circle against her clit, drawing breathy moans from Diana. Her walls flexed around him, milking his cock and she leaned down to claim his lips in another heated kiss. Doran groaned against Diana’s shoulder and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the moist skin, cupping the back of her neck tenderly. Another stroke of his thumb had Diana clenching around him as he climaxed, and he followed shortly after, spilling into her. 

Doran sighed happily as Diana settled on his lap and cupped his face in her hands, kissing him tenderly. “I am yours.” He murmured, gazing at her lovingly, smiling softly. “And I’ll not be parted from you again.” 

“As you are mine.” Diana breathed, threading their fingers together. “Until aught but death part me and thee.” She smiled against his lips, and could only hope that Sansa would one day find this happiness with Oberyn. 

\--------------------

Comments are love <3

**Author's Note:**

> Links to works that inspired this one:
> 
> like a banner into battle by branwyn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192181
> 
> in this expected country they know my name by musicforswimming: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746536
> 
> clinging to the wild things that raised us by TheSweetestThing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305402


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